“THE HEATING BILLS ARE RUINING OUR MARRIAGE!” says a lovely young wife from Rhode Island. They were married in June, and even before the geraniums had turned to withered stalks, She began wearing turtlenecks, He stuck with his cotton t-shirts. She craved chili and spaghetti and soups, he wanted icy vichysoisse and sangria. (Not, she points out, that they go together even in raging heat.)
Thermal Incompatibility is right up there with Sex and Money as a rival for wintertime madness and marital breakdown. When a man wants to open the windows and jog to work and his wife, noting that it snowed a foot the night before, wants to hunker down and turn up the heat, the outcome is obvious: She does so. But then it starts.
“TURN THE HEAT DOWN! IT’S EXPENSIVE!” he says.
“IT’S THE COLDEST WINTER ON RECORD! GET A GRIP!” she says.
Can this marriage be saved?
With the usual amount of compromise, yes.
Begin by being a good sport. It sets the stage. Use words like “Nippy, eh darling?” when the weather gets to 18 degrees and the wind chill, the report says, makes it “feel like 9.”
Say “crisp,” and “bracing,” –both hideous, too-cute euphemisms for Freakin’ Freezing. Use them. The good sport thing.
Then, when he sees how terrific a gal you are, agree to disagree. Tell him you have different bodily thermostats. Explain how heat races to women’s inner organs to protect the baby, were there one there, and leave her outer body cold as his salmon and her extremities like little icicles.
Then, determine where you each like the heat. If he likes it at 65 and you like it at 70, compromise at 67 (and buy two space heaters, one for the bathroom and one for the room where you read and hang out, for having thrown him the one degree). Dual-control electric blankets, although they’re hard to find and a bit out of favor, still exist, and they truly, truly do the trick for those nights when you want to weep you’re so cold.
Don’t eat the same foods. I know this sounds like a marriage buster, but why should you be living on cold salmon and cucumber soup when you want a Cassoulet? Make a Cassoulet and let him “forage,” a word we use up here in my heavenly domain.
“It’s nippy tonight darling,” I say, “So, Go Forage!” If he then wants to share my hot cabbage soup and spiced Grog (apple juice warmed with cinnamon and cloves, with a splash of rum or vodka), I’m delighted. If not, he can, well, chill out. Face the ”bracing” evening ice storm on his own. Pick up the kinds of bone-chilling foods he loves.
And of course you know this, but wearing silk or thermal underwear—not expensive—really works. Not only to keep you warm but to remind your lover that once upon a time, when things were warmer between you and in your house, you looked fetching. And that (by implication), it’s his fault you now look like this.
With a little aggression and a little passive aggression, a woman CAN find happiness in a marriage that runs hot and cold—even in the dead of winter.
Any other warming solutions from readers? Let me know!
